


tell me what you need

by crucios



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Borderline Personality Disorder, Breathplay, Emotional Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 04:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17419259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucios/pseuds/crucios
Summary: There's something a little off-kilter tonight that Marti can't pinpoint. Nico's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes and there's a strained and anxious sort of energy thrumming through him. Like it's just under the surface of his skin but hasn't quite broken through.





	tell me what you need

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially supposed to be a small fic about Marti and Nico having a fight and dealing with the aftermath. How it morphed into this is an absolute mystery to me. I did not go into this expecting to write breathplay, that's for sure.
> 
> Dedicated to the Skam Italia discord who have had to listen to me prattle on about this, specifically to the Italians who graciously answered all of my questions about everything Italian.
> 
> I know I've tagged it but this does deal heavily with Nico's illness (specifically his fears of abandonment and impulsive behaviour), just as a warning.

***

Marti frowns as he picks up his jacket from the floor, searching the pockets for his keys. “I'm going to pop to Eurospin for some groceries. I don't think my mum’s been shopping.”

Nico glances up from Marti's laptop where he's got a Wikipedia page open. “Do you want me to come with?”

“It's fine,” Marti says, shaking his head. He leans down and presses a lingering kiss to Nico's neck. Nico turns to face him, catching his fingers in Marti's hair and kissing him properly. Marti can’t help but to melt into it, lips pliant and yielding.

“Stop it,” he mumbles when Nico tries to pull him down next to him. “Or I won't go and we'll starve to death.” 

Nico makes a face. “Sure you don't want me to go with you?”

“Stay. Keep—reading whatever that is.”

“It's the history of the colour yellow,” Nico tells him.

Marti lets out a laugh. He's fairly sure the history of the colour yellow is not something Nico needs to know for his exams. “Sounds exciting,” he says anyway.

Nico just nods enthusiastically. “I honestly have no idea how the fuck I got here.”

“This is why you don't have a smartphone.”

It isn't why. Marti knows why—well, mostly. But it makes Nico laugh.

“Probably,” he agrees.

Marti picks up his keys from where he's spotted them on the floor — they must have fallen out of his pocket — and says, “I won't be long, okay?”

Nico just flashes him a winning smile and waves his assent as Marti leaves.

Marti was just going to butter some bread and call it dinner before Nico turned up unannounced at six o’clock claiming he needed a change of scenery to help him study. He'd barrelled into Marti's apartment with a backpack full of books and a smile so blinding it was like staring directly into the sun. Marti was more than willing to cancel his vague plans of flicking through inane sitcoms on Netflix in favour of watching Nico study—or watching him read bizarre Wikipedia pages, as it turns out. But he feels like he should probably offer him more than buttered bread if he's going to be staying. He assumes Nico's staying, anyway. Nico wasn't very clear on exactly what his plans are.

There's something a little off-kilter tonight that Marti can't pinpoint. Nico's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes and there's a strained and anxious sort of energy thrumming through him. Like it's just under the surface of his skin but hasn't quite broken through.

He'd brushed it off with a kiss earlier when Marti had asked, and Marti didn't want to push the subject—didn't want to force Nico into talking about it if he didn't want to. So he let it be. Changed gears and steered the conversation towards lunch with the boys tomorrow.

Nico's been so bogged down with studying that he’s barely had the chance to see anyone other than Marti. And Marti knows how much Nico loves them—how they make him feel like he's an important part of something. The boys have more than noticed his absence, frequently asking Marti how Nico’s getting on or if he’ll be joining them. Marti is grateful for that. Grateful that his friends have become _their _friends and welcomed Nico so easily. As if he had always been there. It's the kind of stability that grounds Nico—the kind of stability he needs and deserves.__

Before he forgets, Marti fishes his phone out of his pocket on his walk around to the supermarket to open the Contrabbandieri chat and send a reminder.

> **CONTRABBANDIERI DI LUCHINI**
> 
> **Marti**  
>  We still on for lunch and foosball tomorrow?
> 
> **Gio**  
>  👍👍👍👍👍  
>  Need to even the scores!
> 
> **Luca**  
>  ⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️
> 
> **Elia**  
>  Shit! I totally forgot  
>  Said I'd get lunch with Fili  
>  I can convince him to come along though  
>  😉😉😉
> 
> **Marti**  
>  More the merrier!  
>  Nico will be there too 💛💛💛
> 
> **Elia**  
>  Perfect!  
>  We'll have even numbers for teams
> 
> **Gio**  
>  You're both gross  
>  But yes!!! Finally my partner is back  
>  Good luck, losers
> 
> **Luca**  
>  How come you always get Nico on your team?  
>  😡😡😡  
>  I want him
> 
> **Gio**  
>  He likes me better  
>  I thought he was too busy studying @Marti
> 
> **Marti**  
>  💁💁💁  
>  He showed up at mine  
>  Think it's stressing him out
> 
> **Elia**  
>  He okay?
> 
> **Marti**  
>  👌

****

Marti is not entirely sure that Nico _is_ okay. But that's not for him to disclose. He pockets his phone when he gets to Eurospin to pick up a basket and tries to remember the shopping list he had mentally scrawled across his brain earlier. He gets as far as coffee before it goes as blank as a fucking decorative notepad. His imaginary pen must have run out of ink.

His mind predictably wanders to Nico. He probably should have asked him if there was anything specific he wanted. Maybe he should send him a text. He thinks about Nico sitting in his room. About the way he has carved out his own space in it—in Marti’s life. So much so that it feels a little empty every time Nico has to leave. Like there's a vital piece missing. Marti really wants to go home and kiss him.

Now he's thinking about kissing Nico. Which is helpful to absolutely no one. Least of all the elderly lady whose path he is apparently blocking by standing in the middle of the aisle staring blankly at jarred olives that he is definitely not going to buy. What the fuck is he going to do with olives?

“Sorry,” he mumbles to the lady.

She gives him a bit of a look and he shuffles sheepishly out of her way to head to the pasta. You can't really go wrong with pasta—unless you're Nico, anyway.

Everything comes back to Nico.

***

When Marti returns from the supermarket having somehow managed to find and purchase something edible, he dumps the bag down in the kitchen and frowns at its contents. For the time he spent wandering the aisles he has incredibly little to show for it.

He abandons the bagged groceries on the kitchen floor and pads back into his room. Nico is still sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring intently at Marti’s laptop as if he has discovered the meaning of life in the deep recesses of the internet.

“Hey.”

Nico barely even looks up. “Hey,” he says, then laughs, “I nearly sent out a search party.”

Marti dramatically falls onto the bed. “Grocery shopping is stressful.”

“Yeah,” Nico agrees. “Come here.”

“What are you doing?” Marti sits up and shuffles a bit closer, slotting himself in behind Nico and hooking his chin over his shoulder. “Have you moved on from the history of the colour yellow?”

“I was thinking about London. About when I worked there.”

“Okay,” Marti says, a bit bemused.

“And how much I miss it—London, not the restaurant,” Nico continues happily. “So I had a look at some flights.”

Marti sits up straighter then, a metaphorical alarm bell starting to sound in the distance. “For when?” he asks carefully.

“The end of the month,” Nico tells him.

“The end of the month? Ni, that’s next week.”

“I know. But there’s still flights from Ciampino,” Nico assures — as if that's Marti's main concern — fingers flurrying across the keyboard. “I found a hotel that’s not too expensive, too. For London, anyway. And it’s in Paddington—like the bear.” Nico grins, blinding. “You know there’s a whole Paddington Bear shop there.”

“That sounds great,” Marti tries. “But—”

“And I can take you to the restaurant I worked at last summer,” Nico interrupts.

"Nico, we have school," Marti says, tone neutral. Just a gentle reminder.

Nico waves a hand dismissively. "I know, but it would just be a few days,” he reasons. “Don't you want to see Big Ben, Marti? Buckingham Palace and the guards with those big fucking hats?"

"Of course," Marti says lightly, shuffling around so he's in front of him. "But we can do all of that in the summer.”

“It would just be a few days,” Nico repeats. “We wouldn’t even miss much school.”

“We've already missed too much.”

Nico rolls his eyes and holds out a hand. “Just come look at this hotel. You'll love it. It's right by the canal and there's a little café on a boat that we can—”

“Ni, look at me,” Marti says, cutting him off and taking Nico's hand in one of his own, tilting his face towards him with the other. “I promise we can go in the summer.”

“So, you don’t want to go?” Nico says. He drops Marti's hand with a frown.

“I do,” Marti assures him. “But I don't want you to fail school again."

Nico’s face shutters. "Again.”

"What?"

"Again,” Nico says, steely. “Fail school again. Because I'm such a fuck up that I've already failed it once."

"Hey, no,” Marti says, tentatively reaching out. “That's not what I meant."

Nico jerks away from him, as if in anger. But his eyes are stinging with unmistakable hurt, shoulders sagging with it.

And this—this is slightly new territory. Marti has never seen it happen so quickly before. Has never seen such a distinct change. The mood shift shakes through Nico like a tidal wave capsizing him and drowning him in its stormy waters. Marti wants to dive in after him — wants to hold onto him and protect him from the waves battering into him — but he's fairly sure Nico doesn't want to be touched.

“It doesn't matter,” Nico says, voice quiet and dejected. He shuts the laptop with a bang that Marti tries not to flinch at and gets up from the bed. “It’s not like it’s not true, anyway. I know that I'm a failure.”

“Ni, I don't think that,” Marti assures.

“You will,” Nico tells him, voice catching.

“Ni—”

Nico shakes his head. "I'm going to go."

"Please don't,” Marti says, following him up. He reaches out and takes Nico's hand, squeezing. “You don't have to go.”

Nico hunches his shoulders, almost folding himself inwards. "I do. I can’t—I don’t know how to be here like this.”

Marti can hear the words he's not saying. _I don't want you to have to deal with me like this._

“Like what?” Marti asks gently. “Tell me what you need.”

Nico shakes his head, shrugging away Marti's hand. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. He sounds lost at sea. “I just want to go home."

Marti isn't going to fight Nico on what he wants. He respects whatever it is that Nico has to do to heal when his emotions get the better of him. But he knows that sometimes there's a difference between want and need. That sometimes Nico wants to leave — wants to isolate himself — because he thinks everyone else will be better off. Not because it's what he needs. Marti's not entirely sure that leaving _is_ what Nico needs right now, not entirely sure that he hasn't just talked himself into a corner and convinced himself that Marti is better off when he isn't there. But Nico seems adamant and Marti doesn't want to fight him on it.

"At least let me walk you to the bus stop," Marti offers, not sure what else to do to keep Nico with him long enough to convince him that Marti wants him here. That he always wants him here.

But Nico shakes his head. “I can walk alone,” he says.

Marti wants to say _but you shouldn't have to_. But Nico's already halfway out of the door with his mind firmly made up. So Marti helplessly lets him go.

***

Marti aimlessly paces the brutal silence of his apartment for what feels like could be an hour but could also easily be minutes. He has no idea what he should be doing. Part of him wants to give Nico space—space to breathe and sort through what he’s feeling. But the other — more vocal — part of him remembers Nico’s dejected face. Remembers that Nico pushes sometimes when he doesn’t mean to. That sometimes he just needs someone to tell him that he’s worth something. Marti fiddles with his phone, thumbing for Nico’s number and hits dial. It goes straight to voicemail, the lady with the unreasonably chirpy voice informing him that Nico is unavailable.

He could go out after him—but he’s not sure how long it’s been since Nico left. He could easily be on the bus home by now. He tries his phone again — as if Nico’s switched it back on in the last thirty seconds — but it predictably goes to voicemail, and Marti tells the voicemail lady to kindly fuck off.

He starts to panic a little. He considers phoning Gio. He always seems to know how to say the right thing, somehow. But Gio’s heading out to a party tonight with Sofi, and—well. Marti knows Gio would drop the party without hesitation and be here in record time if Marti explained the situation. In fact, he’d probably take to the streets with Marti to find Nico if the situation called for it. But Marti’s already destroyed one of Gio’s relationships and he’s not keen on interfering with another.

Marti sits down and tries to reason with himself that Nico is probably fine and will call him when he feels up to it. He switches the television on and flicks to a news channel just so the apartment’s not uncomfortably silent. He aimlessly scrolls through Instagram for a while, trying to distract himself—Gio’s put a photo on his story of a truly incredible amount of alcohol. He closes Instagram and instead plays a match on FIFA in an effort to pass the time. Dismally, he loses 5-1 to Inter Milan.

He could call Nico’s mum—just to check that Nico made it home okay. But Marti doesn’t want to cause any unnecessary panic if he hasn’t shown up yet. Nico might have opted to take a long walk home instead of the bus. Or just a walk in general. Walking sometimes helps clear his head a little.

Marti’s busy debating the pros and cons of calling Anna when his phone pings loudly in the silence. He startles and then snatches it up, hoping to find Nico’s name lighting up the screen like a beacon. But it isn’t—it’s Filippo’s.

> **Filippo**  
>  Hey, Nico showed up on my doorstep a little while ago  
>  He looks a bit worse for wear  
>  Thought you might want to know where he is
> 
> **Marti**  
>  Fuck, is he okay?????
> 
> **Filippo**  
>  Haven’t got much out of him other than you had a fight?  
>  Ele’s with him. You alright?
> 
> **Marti**  
>  Not really. I’ll be there soon.
> 
> **Filippo**  
>  Take your time. We’re looking after him.
> 
> **Marti**  
>  Thanks. 💛

Relief flows through Marti like a dam has been broken, and he’s so quick to barrel out of the house that he barely remembers to put his shoes on.

***

Filippo answers the door wearing a dinosaur onesie and a sympathetic smile.

“Hey,” Marti offers. He feels like he should ask about the dinosaur onesie, but he refrains.

“Hey yourself.” Filippo steps aside to let Marti in, nodding his head towards the living room, and Marti spots Nico's mop of curls on the sofa next to Eleonora—who is also in a onesie; it’s a unicorn.

“He's sleeping. Ele's with him,” Filippo says, pulling Marti towards the kitchen. “Come on, I'm going to make you some tea.”

Marti doesn't have the energy to protest, so he follows Dinosaur Filippo into the kitchen and stands there a bit uselessly while he makes them both tea.

“I feel like we interrupted onesie night.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Filippo says, waving his hand. “Just a quiet night in with Netflix. We can do it any time.”

Marti nods. “Okay.”

“Are you alright?” Filippo asks eventually, handing Marti over a steaming mug.

Marti isn't entirely sure what sort of tea it is — it smells a bit like Christmas; belated Christmas — but he takes it anyway and hopes that it will be of some sort of comfort.

“Yeah,” he says, then amends, “No. No, not really.”

Filippo picks up his own mug and leans against the counter. “Okay. What happened?” he prompts.

“We had a fight,” Marti says a bit miserably, though he’s not sure if that’s completely true. “I don’t even know if it was a fight, really. It wasn’t even—I was an idiot. I said the wrong thing.”

Filippo offers him a gentle smile. “People fight all the time.”

“I know. But this was different. I think it scared him. It was like—I don't know.”

“A trigger?” Filippo asks carefully.

Marti nods into the steam billowing from his mug. He hates that it was something he said that triggered it. But he knows—he knows that it’s not as simple as that. That it was something playing on Nico’s mind long before he walked into Marti’s apartment tonight.

“He just shut down in front of me,” Marti says. “And I just fucking watched him leave.”

"Hey," Filippo says softly. He shuffles along the counter so they're standing side-by-side and nudges Marti's shoulder with his own. "You're still learning."

"But I should have known. He fucking told me—he told me just a few days ago that he feels shitty about having to repeat his final year. He doesn't even want to make a big deal about his graduation. I _know_ school's hard for him, I shouldn't have brought it up—"

"Marti," Filippo says sharply. He grabs at Marti’s wrist, holding his gesticulating arm still. "Cut yourself some slack, yeah? You're human. You're still figuring this out. And I guarantee Nico's beating himself up about this just as much as you are.”

Marti relents a little. “Did he say anything?”

“Not much. Just that he fucked everything up. That, and that he loves you. He was pretty adamant about that one.”

“I should have gone after him,” Marti says. “I don't know why I didn't. I wasn't sure he wanted me to.”

Filippo looks at him for a moment, then he carefully takes the mug of tea from Marti's hands and sets it down on the counter before pulling him into a tight hug. “Don't get yourself all twisted up about it,” he says into Marti's hair. “You'll be fine. You'll both be fine. I've never seen two people more disgustingly in love. I wish you could see the way you fucking look at each other."

Marti feels himself smile a bit at that. "Yeah," he agrees. That much is true, at least. He didn't even know he was capable of love like this until Nico bounced into his life wielding an ancient Nokia phone and a smile brighter than all the stars in the sky combined. It still completely floors him, the way his heart feels ready to burst like a fucking balloon every time Nico smiles at him.

Filippo lets him go with a rub to his back, and Marti picks his tea back up and says quietly, "I just don't ever want him to feel like a failure. Because he’s not—he's the strongest person I know."

"So tell him that," Filippo encourages. "When he wakes up, anyway. Do you guys want to stay? You can take my room."

Marti twists his face exaggeratedly. “Have you changed the sheets since Elia was last here?” he asks.

Filippo pokes him in the side with a grin. “Wow, here I am trying to do a nice thing for you both by offering you my room and that's all you have to say?”

"I'm sorry.” Marti laughs, small. “But no, that's okay. I think Nico will want to be somewhere more familiar. But thanks, Fili. Really."

Filippo ruffles his hair. "No problem, Rose."

"Fuck off," Marti tells him, rolling his eyes.

"You love it really."

“Maybe a little bit.”

“Come on,” Filippo says, nodding towards the door. “Let your boy sleep for a bit more and come watch Buzzfeed Unsolved with me. You need to relax.”

“With BuzzFeed Unsolved?”

“It's relaxing,” Filippo insists.

Marti shakes his head. “Eleonora—”

“She’s fine,” Filippo interrupts. “She’s got some fucking dull documentary on about mountaineering or something on Netflix. I think she thought it would be uplifting.” Marti frowns questioningly. Filippo just shrugs and says, “I don't pretend to understand Ele's logic. It’s probably so boring it's what sent Nico to sleep.”

Marti huffs out a genuine laugh. “I just—mountaineering?”

“I know.” Filippo rolls his eyes dramatically as if Eleonora can actually see him. “Anyway, it's fine. She'll tell you if Nico wakes up.”

Marti relents. “Okay,” he says.

Nico could probably do with the rest and reprieve.

***

They make it through approximately one and a half episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved before Filippo rolls his eyes and says, “Alright, I can't take it anymore. I can see you fretting out of the corner of my eye. You have your sad puppy-eyes on. Go wake him up and make it up. Tell Ele to come watch Buzzfeed Unsolved with me.”

“I—Yeah,” Marti says, pulling himself up from Filippo's bed. Because frankly, he _is_ fretting.

“Just come let me know when you guys need a lift home,” Filippo offers. “You’re lucky we haven’t started on the wine yet.”

Marti is intensely thankful for Filippo. “Thanks.”

“Jack,” Filippo adds, raising his eyebrows.

Marti laughs. “Thanks, Jack,” he amends.

Filippo beams and practically shoos him out of the room.

Nico’s curled up asleep at one end of the sofa when Marti shuffles into the living room. Eleonora is perched attentively at the other, still watching whatever bizarre mountaineering documentary it was that Filippo had mentioned. She catches Marti’s eye and gives him a warm smile.

“Hey,” she says in a whisper.

“Hey,” he bounces back.

Marti knows Eleonora fairly well now. Filippo has taken to inviting Marti and Nico to dinner at every opportunity he gets, because some certified idiot — whose name Marti would quite like to know — bought him a cookbook at Christmas and, Filippo being Filippo, decided that hosting dinner parties (complete with an array of experimental cocktails) would be his new calling in life. 

Eleonora gets roped into attending the parties too most of the time. Nico hit it off with her almost right off the bat. Marti knows that past experiences, for whatever reason — Marti hasn't pushed the conversation — have made Nico cautious when it comes to making new friends. So it’s been nice to watch him forge a friendship with Eleonora. They both have the same sort of fearlessness about them. The same soft hearts, too. And the two of them gossip constantly—fuck only knows what about. Edoardo, probably. But it makes Nico laugh, which is what's important.

Marti's grateful that Eleonora is here. Even if her idea of comfort is _mountaineering documentaries_.

“How is he?” Marti asks her quietly.

“He's just sad, mostly. He fell asleep a couple of hours ago. We thought it probably best to just let him rest?”

Marti nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she says kindly. “Are you okay?”

Marti’s eyes fall over Nico’s sleeping figure. He watches the gentle rise and fall of Nico's chest. The way his curls hang softly over his eyes. He feels his heart still a little. “I am now.”

“I’ll let you—” Eleonora cuts off, waving her hand towards Nico and pulling herself up from the sofa. “Take as long as you need.”

“Thanks,” Marti says again.

Eleonora squeezes his shoulder and says on her way out, “He thinks the world of you.”

Marti nods, heart lodged somewhere in his throat. He swallows it down because he is absolutely not going to cry in the middle of Filippo and Eleonora's living room. Instead, he sinks down to the floor by the sofa and softly trails his fingers across Nico’s cheek.

“Ni,” he says gently. 

He looks so peaceful — so unmarred by his struggles — that Marti almost doesn't want to disturb him. But he wants to take him home. He wants to curl up with him underneath the safety of the covers and whisper gentle apologies and reassurances into his warm skin.

"Ni," he says again, a little louder. "Wake up, babe." 

Nico stirs quietly. He slowly uncurls his body and stretches out his legs, frowning at the disturbance. He looks so soft and small that it’s a bit like watching a kitten wake up. 

“Marti?” he says eventually, once he’s blinked his eyes open.

“Hey,” Marti offers.

Nico yawns, his face scrunching up with it. "You're here," he says, like he's not sure Marti really _is_ there.

"I'm here."

Nico half pulls himself up. “How long have I been asleep?” he asks. His voice is careful, like he thinks Marti might be mad at him.

“Couple of hours,” Marti says, brushing his fingers through Nico’s curls. “I've been here a while. Wanted to let you rest before—well, before we talk.”

Nico nods, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Marti asks.

Nico shakes his head—Marti’s not sure whether it's at himself or at Marti. Then, “I’m sorry,” Nico whispers.

He sounds so utterly broken that all Marti wants to do is gather him up in is arms and gently hold all of the pieces together until he starts to heal.

Marti’s legs are starting to ache from where he’s crouching down, so he pushes himself up from the floor and takes up the space next to Nico.

“I'm the one who should be sorry," he says.

Nico shakes his head again. “No, you shouldn't.”

“Well, I am,” Marti says, shuffling closer. “So that's that.”

“You don’t hate me?” It comes out like Nico’s still afraid of the answer.

Marti takes Nico's face in his hands, fingers soothing. “Not even close.”

“I thought I'd fucked everything up,” Nico mumbles, still not meeting Marti's eyes. “I do that.”

Marti’s chest feels tight and his arms ache to hold him. “Come here,” he says.

Nico does; he pushes across at the same time Marti pulls him close, wrapping Nico up in his arms. Nico falls into it easily and exhales against him, as if he had been holding his breath. He presses his face into Marti’s shoulder, and Marti lets his lips linger in a kiss to his hair.

“You haven’t fucked anything up,” Marti assures him.

Marti holds onto him for as long as Nico needs him to, time seeming to stand still for a while. Eventually, when they disentangle, Marti asks, "How'd you end up here?"

Nico shrugs, small. "I don’t really know,” he says, frowning. “I realised I didn't really want to go home. I wanted to come back but—I don’t know. I felt fucking ridiculous. So I ended up here."

“You’re not ridiculous,” Marti argues.

Nico gives him a bit of a sceptical look. “I tried to convince you to go to fucking London next week.”

“It was tempting, I won’t lie,” Marti says with a smile.

He doesn’t want to make this into something Nico needs to be ashamed about. Because it isn’t that. It’s something that happens and it’s something that they deal with. Marti’s approach to Nico’s impulsive behaviour is generally to talk about it as casually as you would talk about the weather. To not draw attention to it in a way that makes Nico want to crawl out of his own skin, ashamed to even look at him. It solves nothing to make Nico feel any worse than he already does about it. Marti doesn't understand why some people — alright, Maddalena — found that so difficult to grasp.

Nico looks at him with something like gratitude. “Shut up,” he says quietly. But so fond. He stares down at their intertwined fingers for a moment. “I think I was hoping Filippo would text you so I wouldn’t have to. Just in case.”

Marti tilts his head in question. “In case I didn’t want you to come back?”

“Something like that,” Nico admits.

“I wish I'd come after you. I tried calling, but—”

Nico shakes his head. “I turned my phone off.”

“Yeah,” Marti says.

“I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry.”

Marti squeezes his hand. “It doesn’t matter,” he tells him, moving to pull them both up. “Come on, I’m taking you home. Well, actually, Fili’s driving us.”

“To yours?”

Marti smiles at him. “If you still want to stay.”

"Do you still want me there?" Nico asks. His voice is so small it's barely there.

"I always want you there."

***

Filippo drops them off about a five-minute walk from Marti’s apartment building, Nico requesting to take a short walk and get some air. Sometimes it helps him, just being out in the open. More so at night when the streets are empty and they can walk hand-in-hand undisturbed.

“See you tomorrow?” Marti asks when Filippo pulls over to let them out.

“Tomorrow?”

Shit. “Elia hasn't told you about lunch?”

Filippo just rolls his eyes knowingly. “He told me about lunch. He didn't tell me it was a group event.”

Marti laughs. “Well, uh, surprise?”

“That little asshole,” Filippo says, but it's so unbelievably fond that it comes out like an endearment. “See you tomorrow then,” he says. Then to Nico, “You too?”

Nico nods, fumbling with the car door. “I'll be there.”

“Thank God for that,” Filippo says. “Boyfriends of the Contrabbandieri have to stick together.”

Marti huffs out a laugh. “Hate to break it to you, but Nico's an honorary member.”

“It's true,” Nico says with a small and fond smile. “I have a membership card.”

Filippo tuts. “You're a traitor. Get out of my car, both of you,” he tells them. His face softens after a moment, though, and he adds, “Take care of each other, okay?”

Marti nods. “See you tomorrow,” he says at almost the exact same time Nico does. They exchange a soft look of amusement and Marti gets caught up in Nico’s half-smile cast in light from the street-lights outside.

Filippo pretends to throw up as he's driving away. Marti makes a mental note to get back at him the next time Filippo and Elia are all over each other. It's a frequent enough occurrence that he won't have long to wait.

Nico slips his hand into Marti's as they head up the street, fingers a little chilly. He looks lost in thought—weighed down by the weight of the world and then some. Marti holds on tight, hoping Nico will accept it as an offer to shoulder some of it.

“We don't have to go tomorrow, if you don't feel up to it,” Marti says, in case Nico's changed his mind about it and needs an out.

“No, I do,” Nico protests. “I'll be okay.”

“Okay,” Marti says, directing them towards the bridge.

“Anyway, Gio needs me.”

“Yeah,” Marti says with a smile. “He definitely misses having you on his team.”

Nico hums in agreement. “He texted me last week telling me that Luchi’s useless,” he explains, “and that he’s lost without me.”

Marti barks out a loud laugh. “Did he? Are you paraphrasing?”

“Seriously.” Nico laughs, a little weak but a laugh nonetheless. “I think he’s getting desperate.”

“He’s a sore loser,” Marti agrees.

Nico stops and gently lets go of Marti’s hand, changing course and heading towards the barrier of the bridge. He leans his arms against the railing and stares out at the murky-black river below them. Marti follows, leaning by his side and pressing their shoulders together.

“What’s up?” he asks gently, giving him an opening. He knows that Nico wants to talk about it—that he’s been trying to find the words.

"I hate that I'm like this," Nico whispers. "I feel like such a fucking burden. It's like—sometimes I know I'm being irrational but I can't stop. You were trying to help earlier and I was—"

Marti hushes him gently, fingers finding Nico's again in the dim light. "I shouldn't have brought up failing school. I know it's been tough for you. I don't know why the fuck I said that—I shouldn't have."

"You were trying to help," Nico says again. “I just panicked. I was scared you'd figured out that I'm a disappointment and a failure like everyone else has.”

Marti's heart twists painfully in his chest. “You're none of those things.”

“I don't even know if I'm going to pass this year,” Nico continues quietly. “I've missed so many days because I'm stupid and impulsive, or because I can't get out of bed like a normal fucking person. I just—you were right. I don't want to fail again.”

“This has really been getting to you,” Marti says. It's not so much a question as it is a realisation.

Marti's starting to piece it all together now—Nico’s extreme reaction to the mere suggestion of failing school; the conversation they had about Nico's graduation a few days ago; his impulsive need to run away from it. It wasn't even about London — it could have been anywhere — it was about escape. Not just about escaping school but about escaping the feeling of not being _good enough_.

Nico shrugs. “My dad's been on my back about it. Maybe that was the trigger, I don’t know. I know he thinks I'm a disappointment. But I feel like he reminds me of it every fucking chance he gets.”

“Is that what you were afraid I’d think too?” Marti asks, turning towards him and leaning sideways against the railing.

Nico doesn't meet his eyes. “I don't know.”

"I don't think you're a disappointment, Ni."

Nico lets out a shuddering breath. Marti knows well enough now to recognise when Nico is on the verge of tears, so he squeezes his hand a little tighter.

"Everyone else does," Nico whispers brokenly into the night air.

His parents. Maddalena. Sometimes Marti wants to throttle the lot of them. He can't stand the idea that Nico is so used to people telling him he's a disappointment. That it's so ingrained in him that he's come to expect it from everyone. Marti wants to fight anyone who has ever made Nico feel unworthy.

"Fuck everyone else," Marti says fiercely.

Nico smiles at that. It's a small barely-there smile, but it's there.

“I mean it. It doesn't matter to me when you graduate. It couldn't matter any fucking less. As long as you're okay. Your health comes first. It doesn't mean you're a failure, okay?”

Nico briefly closes his eyes and nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Marti says with a smile.

Nico smiles back, a bit brighter this time. “Okay,” he says again.

Marti presses his smile to Nico's then, a soft and grounding kiss that Nico melts into.

“You'll pass,” he whispers against his lips.

“What if I don't?”

“Well, then we might be in the same class next year,” Marti says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “So, silver-lining?”

Nico laughs a little, shaking his head. “That’s not a silver-lining, Marti. I'd just fail again. How the fuck am I supposed to concentrate if you're sitting next to me all day?”

“Hmmm. Good point,” Marti agrees. “You'll just have to pass this year then, to save us both the torture and frustration.”

Nico leans across and kisses him this time, fingers in Marti's hair.

“Come on,” Marti says when they finally part. “Home.”

***

“Martino?” Marti’s mum's voice rings from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen when Marti shuts the apartment door closed behind him and Nico.

“Yeah,” Marti confirms — as if it would be anybody else — kicking off his shoes. He follows her voice through to the kitchen, pulling Nico gently along with him by his hand.

“Thanks for going shopping,” his mum says, bustling about and putting things away. “I’ve put the money for it in your room. You could have put the food away though. It'll spoil—oh,” she stops when she spots Nico behind Marti in the doorway. “Hello, Niccolò!”

“Hey,” Nico says.

“Can Nico stay tonight?” Marti asks her, hoping his expression conveys just how vital it is she agree.

“Of course,” she says easily.

Marti can see her taking in Nico's tired eyes and his not-quite-there smile. She puts down the packet of pasta she had been holding and looks at Nico with what Marti has termed her Concerned About Niccolò Face. Nico has a similar concerned face when it comes to Marti's mum. Marti thinks it might be a solidarity thing—but whatever it is, he's glad they can find some sort of comfort in each other.

Last month Marti had awoken one Sunday to find them sitting at the table together, his mum's hand resting gently on Nico's arm as they drank coffee and exchanged quiet and soothing words. Marti hadn't wanted to disturb them, so he went back to bed for half an hour and texted Gio _I think my mum wants to adopt Nico_. Gio replied with _Can't believe she's replaced me!!!_ and five crying emojis. Later, Marti went and joined them for breakfast, and his mum beamed at them both the entire time.

When Marti had brought up how grateful he was that Nico clicked so well with his mum, Nico had simply said with a grin, “Well, we have a lot in common. We both love you.”

“Are you okay?” his mum asks Nico now.

Nico nods, small. “I will be.”

“Alright.” She pats Nico's shoulder and smiles softly at them both. “Would either of you like some tea?”

Nico shakes his head as Marti says, “No thanks, we're just going to lie down for a little while.”

His mum just nods, smiling warmly and letting them go.

***

Nico heads straight for Marti’s bed when they reach his room, half-stripping down so he’s just in his t-shirt and boxers. He looks so terribly small and lost—even in the way he holds himself, like he still isn’t sure he belongs here. Marti wishes there were something he could offer him other than kind words and a soft bed. But maybe that’s enough.

Marti just follows suit, shucking off his jacket and kicking off his jeans. He settles down next to Nico, lying on his side to face him; his eyes are worn, a wilting sadness to them, but he’s still the most beautiful person Marti has ever seen. Nico blinks at him for a few seconds, then shuffles a little closer, as if craving the contact. Marti lets him have it; he traces his hand down Nico’s side, pulling him closer, and offers him a gentle smile that he hopes says “You’re safe here.”

“You don’t have to watch over me,” Nico says quietly.

“I like watching you,” Marti says. “Honestly, it’s purely for shallow reasons. You’re pretty hot, you know.”

Nico laughs, soft. “Oh really?”

“Really.”

“Thanks,” Nico says quietly, and Marti's fairly sure it's not for the compliment.

“For what?” Marti asks.

Nico shrugs, moving his hand to comb his fingers through Marti's hair. “For putting up with me.”

“Hey,” Marti says, a gentle admonishment. “There is no _putting up with you_. You're my boyfriend not an inconvenience.”

Nico makes a disagreeing face at that. “I know I'm not the easiest person to be with,” he says.

“You're wrong,” Mari argues, tone light. “So wrong. I'm going to write you a list of Reasons Why You're Wrong.”

Nico breathes out a laugh into the space between them. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Marti says. “Tomorrow.” 

“Can I grade it?”

“Will you give it a fair grade?”

Nico twists his face.

Marti shakes his head at him. “Didn't think so.” 

They fall into a comfortable quiet for a while, Marti’s hand still soft and reassuring against Nico’s side. For a moment, Marti thinks Nico might have nodded off. But then he moves his fingers to Marti's cheek, just resting there. His eyes are closed but Marti can see his brain working. Like he's trying to figure out how to say something. Marti just waits for him to get there.

“You scare me sometimes,” Nico says eventually, quietly.

Marti knows enough to restructure that sentence in his head. _Sometimes I’m scared you’ll stop loving me. Sometimes I'm scared you'll leave me._

“I know,” Marti replies softly. He drops a kiss to Nico's hair then says, "But I really don't think you understand how easy it is to love you.”

“Marti—”

“No, listen. Are you listening?” Marti looks at him, waiting for the slight nod of Nico’s head before he says, “I love you. No matter what, okay?”

Nico blinks slow and tired, gaze focused anywhere but on Marti. "Yeah."

"Look at me,” Marti says, hand moving to Nico's jaw. “Tell me you know that."

"I know that," Nico replies quietly, finally tilting his head to meet Marti's eyes. “I know.”

"Good,” Marti says, smiling gently.

Nico’s mouth curves to match it, like he can’t help it. He bumps Marti’s nose with his own. “I love you too.”

“Good,” Marti says again. “Do you want something to eat? Because I bought—actually, I can't even remember what I bought.”

Nico breathes out a laugh. “Is that my fault?”

“Definitely.” Marti grins. “But only because while I was shopping all I could think about was coming back home and kissing you.”

“Instead you had to come home and deal with my fucking crazy brain,” Nico says apologetically.

Marti shrugs. “We just got a bit waylaid. Kissing can definitely still be on the agenda. If you want.”

Nico stares at him for a moment, and there's something like awe in his eyes. It steals Marti's breath away like a thief in the night. He wonders if that's what he looks like when he looks at Nico. He wonders if that's what Filippo meant.

“I'm not even sure you're real,” Nico says.

“Definitely real,” Marti confirms. “I have a birth certificate and everything. I’ll make you a copy.”

“You do that.”

“So…” Marti pushes. “Dinner?”

Nico scrunches his face up. “No thanks.”

“What?” Marti demands in jest. “After I suffered through the supermarket distracted by the thought of you?”

Nico smiles a little. “Maybe later,” he says, like an apology.

“That’s okay,” Marti tells him. He rubs his thumb in soft and comforting circles against Nico’s hip. “What now, then?”

“Now,” Nico says, shuffling close, “you're going to kiss me. Since apparently it’s _all_ you've been able to think about.”

“You love my one-track mind.” Marti smiles, leaning in.

“I really do,” Nico agrees.

He slides his fingers into Marti's hair and lets Marti close the rest of the distance to kiss him, sighing into the soft press of Marti's mouth. 

They kiss softly, lips slow and steady in a gentle back and forth. Nico's hand is in Marti's hair, and Marti has an arm circling Nico's frame, holding him like a tether as their mouths touch. Nico half-smiles against Marti’s lips, and the small shape of it makes Marti’s heart flutter. Everything feels so still around them, solid and tangible in a way Marti can't explain. Like their own sanctuary in a little-known corner of the universe. He hopes Nico can feel it too—safety. They kiss, and they keep kissing, time getting a little lost and distorted.

Nico's fingers trail down Marti’s face, just holding him there, and Marti's not sure who changes the kiss — he thinks it might have been both of them, a mutual decision — or when, but there's a certain shift, gradual moments, when it becomes a little messier, intent forming behind it. Marti opens his mouth, and Nico's tongue slides in slow and hot, Marti chasing it with his own, fingers digging into Nico's back. Their breaths get louder in the quiet of the room as their kisses get less controlled, a little hotter and deeper.

Marti can feel Nico getting hard against him, hips pushing forward a little looking for more contact. Marti shuffles closer, as if in offering — no pressure — and Nico responds by tightening his fingers in Marti's hair and pushing harder. He makes a little breathless noise into Marti's mouth like an assent. They don't stop kissing, slow but prickly-hot and overwhelming; they kiss with the same slow rhythm they move their hips—not too urgent. But Marti can feel his skin start to heat up, flames kindling. He sucks on Nico's bottom lip, and Nico's hand finds its way to Marti's lower back and pulls him even closer, hips tighter, and the change in pressure makes Marti break their kiss, panting heavy.

“Don’t stop,” Nico says breathily.

“Ni,” Marti murmurs, and then he's moving before he even realises he's doing it.

He pushes Nico onto his back, rolling on top of him and slotting a thigh in between his legs. Nico's breath catches, surprised, and he reaches up to lay a hand on Marti’s face and guide him down to his lips. Marti pushes down into the kiss as he pushes down with his hips, and they rock into each other with a little more purpose.

Marti’s hands scramble for skin to touch. He pulls back enough to frown at Nico's t-shirt, sliding his fingers underneath, and Nico shoves himself up far enough so he can pull it over his head. He throws it somewhere to the wayside and gets his hands on Marti's shirt too, yanking at it. Marti helpfully lifts up his arms and lets Nico do the rest. When he's shirt-free he presses Nico back down, hands finally roaming over warm skin that rises to his touch. Nico's hands go to his hips, pulling at him, and Marti goes easily, moving to meet Nico's thrusts at every step. He can feel the hard line of Nico's cock push against his, only the thin barrier of their boxers separating them, and Marti can't help but let out a bitten-off moan. Nico makes an unintelligible sound that might be Marti's name, as if in response, and Marti just catches it in a hot and messy kiss.

"Can I blow you?" Marti asks against Nico's mouth. He wants to make him feel good. Wants to help him hold on to something. But he won’t make any assumptions about what Nico needs right now. He's more than happy to do just this—this aching and cresting hot-slow grind.

But Nico nods. "Yeah," he answers thickly, fingers pressing into Marti's shoulder.

Marti takes his time. He kisses his way over Nico's jaw, over his neck, over his collarbones, Nico's hands dragging through his hair as he trails soft kisses down and down. When his mouth reaches Nico's hips, he hears Nico's breath stutter. Nico looks down at him, and Marti smiles in a way that feels too soft for this particular moment. But it just seems to come naturally whenever he looks at Nico. Like instinct. 

Nico arches up, and Marti pulls down on his boxers and gets his mouth on him, tongue swirling around the head before sinking down. 

"Oh, fuck," Nico groans quietly, and right now it's possibly the most beautiful thing that Marti has ever heard him say.

He uses his mouth and his hand, sliding up and down so his lips are meeting the circle of his fingers, again and again until Nico is writhing beneath him, one hand gripping at Marti's hair and the other gripping at the sheets. He's needy with it, and there's something about that that makes Marti want to give him everything—anything.

He presses harder with the flat of his tongue, meeting Nico's minute thrusts, and—

“Marti, wait," Nico breathes out, sounding punch-drunk and wrecked. Marti can tell he's getting close, breaths coming out faster. He stills Marti's head with his hand, and Marti can feel his thighs shaking. “I don't want—not yet. C’mere.”

Marti complies, pulling off and letting Nico drag him upwards. He crawls over him — pausing for a minute to fumble a bit gracelessly and kick his boxers off because fuck them — and slots their bodies together in an achingly slow grind, his cock sliding alongside Nico's without anything in between them now. Nico gets his hands around Marti's face and pulls him into a searing kiss that tastes like need. Marti feels hot all over—burning up like a dying sun. He can feel Nico respond, canting his hips up in a search for more friction. When their lips part, Nico holds him there for a moment, foreheads touching. He squeezes his eyes closed and Marti can feel the coiled-up tension—a desperate sort of need thrumming through Nico's body that he doesn't seem to know how to express.

“Hey,” Marti says, “you with me?”

“Yeah,” Nico breathes, opening his eyes and looking up at him, a bit unfocused.

Marti smiles. “Where'd you go?”

Nico just shakes his head. “Nowhere,” he says.

Marti knows better than to believe that. "Talk to me," he whispers, leaning down to press a soft and encouraging kiss to Nico's mouth.

"Marti," Nico murmurs against him, an urgent edge to it.

And Marti knows what it is that Nico needs. He recognises it now—or maybe he knows because it's often Nico's mood that dictates the need. It always seems to happen when Nico's feeling particularly vulnerable and fragile. Like he needs to be anchored and this is one of the ways he knows how.

Marti mouths gentle kisses below Nico's ear. "Tell me what you need," he whispers into his skin, because he always has to be sure. Every step of the way.

Nico offers his answer by finding Marti's hand and tangling his fingers with his own, trailing their joined hands up over his chest and towards his neck. Marti isn't sure what it is about it—but there's something. Something about Marti's hand around his neck that seems to both ground Nico and get him off in equal measure.

(The first time they had done this Marti had felt a little out of his depth, half terrified he would accidentally snap Nico's fucking neck. Logically, he was fairly sure it would probably take a lot to snap someone's neck (it does take a lot, it turns out. He googled "how much strength does it take to snap someone's neck?" Quite a lot, apparently. Nico just laughed warmly and said, "Now the government are going to show up on your doorstep convinced you're about to go on some sort of neck-snapping killing spree.”). But Nico's neck had felt so fragile beneath his fingers when he had first wrapped them around it.

Nico had explained the logistics to him beforehand and assured Marti that it was his choice—that he would never make him do something he didn't feel comfortable doing. Marti knew that. But it wasn't that he didn't want to; he did. God, he did. It surprised him just how intoxicating the thought was, how much it turned him on. Even more intoxicating was how much Nico seemed to crave it. He wanted badly to give that to him. It was just—

“What if I hurt you?” Marti had asked.

“I'll tell you,” Nico promised, laying his hand reassuringly over Marti's where it was resting tentative but curious by his throat. “Safe word, yeah? Let’s make it giraffe.”

Marti had laughed at that. “Of course,” he said, because what else was it going be?

“And if I can’t speak then—I'll just tap your shoulder.”

“Tap? Nico, if I'm hurting you just punch my fucking shoulder,” Marti told him.

“Okay, that works too,” Nico agreed, pulling him into an aching kiss.)

Nico presses down on Marti's fingers around his neck, and Marti rocks his hips down at the same time as he slowly squeezes. He hears Nico's sharp inhale as he arches into it—both into Marti's hand on his neck and Marti's hips pushing down. Marti adds more pressure, the way he knows Nico likes, and Nico's whole body reacts this time, as if lit up in sparks. It's an intoxicating sort of desperation, and Marti loves it. He loves watching the way Nico reacts to it. The way his eyes lose their focus — hazy and euphoric — and his hips desperately jerk upwards. The way he can see his name on Nico's lips, just a short gasp. The way Nico completely lets go and allows himself to _have this_. Marti knows how much Nico sometimes struggles to allow himself comfort — in whatever form it takes — when he doesn't think he deserves it. When he thinks he's a burden to everyone. Earlier tonight was proof enough of that. So watching him surrender to it like this makes Marti's heart swell in his chest.

It's still something Marti's trying to navigate—this sort of push-and-pull of control. Nico flickers between needing to take control and needing Marti to take control. Sometimes it's a bit of both. It flickers in the same way his moods do, his needs changing depending on his emotions. Marti accepted it the way he did everything else about Nico—with understanding and a steadfast willingness to learn. It's just another part of Nico that he loves.

Marti loosens his fingers, rubbing them against Nico's neck. "Okay?" he checks.

Nico just nods his answer. He pulls Marti down into a kiss, but he's so breathless that it's just a wet and heated slide of lips. He's rutting up against Marti with less and less finesse, and Marti pushes his hips down, meeting his erratic thrusts over and over, and he can't help the noises spilling from his mouth—Nico's name at the centre of them. Everything feels elevated in a way he can't put words to. Like Nico's breathless euphoria is seeping into his skin through osmosis and lighting him up from the inside.

Marti would be lying if he were to say he isn't desperately curious about what it would feel like reversed. To have Nico's fingers around his throat, holding him down. Nico already has a penchant for pinning Marti down—whether it's with his hands or with his body. He wonders what it would be like; to be pinned down by Nico's hand on his neck while he jerks him off—while Nico fucks him. The thought makes him a little dizzy with want. But that's a conversation for another time. Right now he just wants to make Nico feel good—feel wanted and centred. Wants him exactly like this. To watch him come apart beneath him and to hold him through it.

He presses his forehead to Nico's, fingers loosening on his neck and then squeezing again. It doesn't take much more—just the urgent grind of their hips and Marti's fingers around his neck. Marti feels rather than sees when Nico comes. Feels the jerk of his body underneath him and the way his fingers tighten almost painfully in Marti's hair. Feels the slick wetness between their bodies and the vibration of the noises clawing their way from Nico's throat where Marti's hand is wrapped around it. Marti loosens his fingers and trails soft kisses down Nico's neck, moving his hand to soothe over the skin there with his mouth while Nico shakes through the aftermath. He tilts his head to look at him and—he looks incredible; breathless and completely beautiful. Marti is so in love with him it hurts.

“I love you,” he murmurs against Nico’s jaw.

Nico takes in heavy breaths, eyes closed. Marti gives him some time to breathe and recover, whispering soft words in-between mouthing soft kisses to his skin, hand gentle on his cheek.

“Fuck,” Nico manages succinctly, when he's finally caught his breath.

Marti combs his fingers through Nico's sweat-damp hair, pressing kisses to every inch of his face. “You okay?” he asks.

Nico nods, lips forming a delicate smile before he pulls Marti into a proper kiss. They kiss slow and soft for a long while, it feels almost timeless. Marti can feel Nico smiling into it, and for some reason it's that blissful joy — that smile-shaped kiss — that sets his body alight and has him reaching down to get a hold of his dick. Nico breaks off the kiss with a laugh and pushes at Marti's shoulder, rolling him over onto his back in an impressively graceful move. Marti just gazes up at him, half-hazy with unadulterated want and love.

"My turn," Nico says.

Nico's mouth goes straight for Marti's neck, and Marti would breathe out a laugh and call him predictable if it didn't make his whole body feel fucking electric. Instead, all he manages to do when Nico sucks a bruise into his skin is let out a string of garbled sounds that seem to echo around his room. Nico quickly hushes him with a kiss, which Marti is a bit thankful for—God, he really hopes his mum has the television on.

Nico kisses him deep, all tongue and wet heat, and then he's sliding down Marti's body without much warning. Marti's grateful for his diligence, because he's so turned on that if he doesn't get off soon it's entirely possible he will cease to exist. Nico digs his fingers into Marti's hips and mouths at the head of his cock like he's desperate for Marti's taste, and—holy shit. 

"Holy shit," Marti groans, far louder than he meant to.

He feels Nico laugh, a breath of air against his dick. "You're so terrible at keeping quiet," he berates, in a way that implies he wants Marti to keep being terrible at it.

Marti feels his cheeks heat up. He wants to protest, but it's true and they both know it. Also, he's fairly sure he couldn't form the words to protest if he tried, not with the way Nico's licking over his cock and pinning his hips down. Marti's so far gone at this point that it's really not going to take very much at all to push him over the edge.

Nico makes a noise that Marti feels when he takes him in his mouth, and somewhere amongst the bliss, Marti worries about Nico's throat for a moment, whether his earlier ministrations are making this painful for Nico in any way. When he tugs at Nico's hair and glances down to check, Nico's looking up at him with impossibly bright eyes, and Marti reshapes the thought in his head and instead wonders whether Nico _likes_ it. The idea gets him off more than he feels like it should, hips trying to jerk up in defiance of Nico's fingers pressing them down.

Nico doesn't falter, doesn't skip a beat. Marti tightens his fingers in Nico's hair as he takes him in deeper, all wet pressure sliding up and down. Marti loves how good he is at this. How easily Nico makes him come apart with his mouth. Like pulling a thread and watching him unravel.

"Nico," he murmurs, a fair warning. He can feel the heat pooling, molten.

Nico just nods, and fuck—Marti's going to come down his throat, the same throat he had his fingers wrapped around earlier. It's that overwhelming thought and the swirl of Nico's tongue that does it. Marti has to physically bite back the sounds, vision going spotty and hips stuttering. Nico takes it all and then trails almost unbearably soft kisses from his thighs up to his hips as Marti comes down, breath gasping and skin tingling. When he can move again, Marti pulls his fingers loosely through Nico's hair, guiding him back up. Nico just smiles at him — mouth red to match his neck — and Marti pulls him into a kiss, fingers gentle, opening his mouth to him.

They trade messy, open-mouthed kisses until they taper off into something softer, until eventually they're just quietly breathing each other in, Marti holding Nico in his arms. After a moment, Nico shifts and they reposition themselves, lying so they're facing each other, the sheets a tangled mess around them.

Marti smiles at him, can't help it. "Are you okay?"

Nico hums. "Yeah," he says. "Just—" he cuts himself off, like he can't find a word for it.

Overwhelmed, Marti thinks, but doesn't voice it. Instead, he just nods, pulling Nico closer, and says, "Okay."

His eyes fall to Nico's neck, still red from his grip on it. He moves his hand to brush his fingers over the marks, touch careful and feather-light as he trails them back and forth, soothing over the skin. Nico just watches him for a moment — expression unreadable — and then he takes Marti's hand in his own, pressing his lips to his fingers almost reverently. It reminds Marti of another time—another wordless thank you that made his heart threaten to burst in his chest. Marti kisses him, slow, then again, slower.

"Do you think we should clean up?" Nico asks when they part, motioning their joined hands at — Marti assumes — the sheer mess of them both. His tone implies that he's not going to do anything about it himself, though.

Marti groans, and Nico huffs out a laugh at it. Marti absolutely does not want to move, but they're sticky and gross so he should probably make some sort of attempt. Marti painstakingly pushes himself up and grabs for the closest item of discarded clothing — his t-shirt, it turns out — to wipe the slick mess of come and sweat from the both of them. It'll do for now. He makes a mental note to remember not to put that t-shirt back on later—that would be unfortunate. Once he's done the best he can and thrown the t-shirt in the direction of the floor, Nico half-sprawls over him, pressing his face into the crook of Marti's neck and tangling their legs together. His fingers trace patterns over Marti's chest, and Marti moves his hand to Nico's hair, burying it in his curls and holding him close. They lie like that for a quiet while, just breathing in the easy silence. It feels so close—so intimate. It also feels like a bizarre thing to call intimate after everything that came before it, but there's something about the way they intertwine and breathe in tandem that makes Marti's heart expand.

Eventually, Nico dispels the quiet. "I think I'm getting hungry now," he says. "Hope you bought something decent when you were thinking about kissing me in a supermarket."

Marti laughs brightly, because, well. Yeah. "Me too," he says. He genuinely can't remember what he bought. "I’ll cook us something. But we're waiting until my mum’s in her room. If I go out there now she'll take one look at me and know exactly what we've been doing."

"Why?" Nico asks with a self-satisfied smile. "Are you as terrible at keeping that just-had-great-sex look off your face as you are at keeping quiet?"

Marti shoves gently at Nico's shoulder. "Fuck off," he says fondly, then with a short laugh, "But yeah, I really am."

Nico noses at Marti's neck, lips against his skin when he says, "Glad to know I have that effect on you."

"You have so many effects on me," Marti tells him. So many that he's lost count.

"Good," Nico says.

"Yeah. Good," Marti agrees.

Marti stares up at the ceiling, a smile playing on his lips. He sometimes wishes they could stay like this forever. Just the two of them, tangled up together in their own comfortable sanctuary. Maybe they really should travel in the summer. It's a tempting thought; to be able to spend so much time alone together. Parts of their trip to Milan are still painful — especially for Nico — but not all of it. Not even most of it. Most of it was breathtaking; he remembers Nico showing him all of the sights, remembers kissing him at the top of the Unicredit Tower. He remembers the red neon light and achingly soft kisses, hands all over each other, feeling so overwhelmed and turned-on that it was dizzying. Being able to go anywhere they wanted and have their own space to be together. He wants them to be able to have that again. Actually, he's pretty sure they fucking deserve it. After everything life threw at them to get to where they are now.

“What are you thinking?” Nico asks, pinching at his skin.

Marti blinks, then says, “I was thinking—we can still go to London, you know. If you want to.”

Nico nods. “In the summer,” he agrees. “It’ll be warmer at least.”

“Yeah,” Marti hums. “It’d be nice. Just us.”

“And the Queen,” Nico adds.

Marti laughs. “Her too.”

“You should probably organise it though,” Nico says a little apologetically, fingers tapping against Marti’s skin like playing piano notes. “I would spend too much money.”

“I can do that,” Marti says. Well, he might have to enlist some help; he doesn’t know the first thing about booking a holiday. But he can figure it out. “We can have a picnic in that big park.”

“Hyde Park,” Nico supplies.

Marti nods, half yawning. “Yeah, that one,” he agrees. “And you can still take me to the restaurant you used to work at.”

“Okay. But I warn you, it’s not that great.”

“Their carbonara has to be better than yours,” Marti says with a grin.

Nico huffs out a laugh at that. “Asshole,” he says softly. “I still owe you another attempt at that.”

“I really don't think my taste buds are ready,” Marti jokes. “How about tomorrow night?”

Nico smiles against Marti’s skin. “Prepare to be amazed, Martino Rametta.”

Marti already is.

***

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes:
> 
> 1\. Somehow I wrote the most emotional breathplay in the history of ever. Why am I like this?
> 
> 2\. I genuinely googled "how much strength does it take to snap someone's neck?" So now the government is probably going to show up on my doorstep convinced that I am about to go on some sort of neck-snapping killing spree, as Nico would say.
> 
> 3\. I also spent far longer than necessary on Google maps trying to figure out the exact location of Marti's apartment block so I could then find out a) how far away Filippo's place would be and b) a nearby supermarket. Many thanks to the Italian side of fandom on both twitter and the Skam Italia discord who were incredibly helpful.
> 
> 4\. I absolutely adore the idea of Nico and Marti spending so much time at Filippo's place that Nico and Eleonora end up bonding. So I was like, "You know what? I'm going to write it because I can." They're friends and that's that. 
> 
> 5\. You can also find me on [tumblr](http://crucios.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/akielon).


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